Build our machine - You die tonight (Interactive story!)
by AmberFoxOfChaos
Summary: Inspired by the DA games song, and the franchise, I have decided to create this interactive story. It entails a story from the perspective of Henry, and a mystery narrator. When you return to your workshop after 30 years of absence, you find many things amiss, including a certain lost memory of cartoons you used to treasure, that are none too happy about being forgotten...
1. The return

**They have sent you a letter...**

You carefully push at the door of the place you used to call your workshop, and wince as it creaks as though someone is screaming within the foundations. But you press on, a small shiver running through your body, and step inside. There's ink dripping from the ceiling, resembling that of blood in a horror movie, but you push those thoughts away. After all, you've worked here for years, and made all your best creations here, it isn't a place to be scared of.

Reaching into your pocket, you pull out the crumpled letter, and straighten it out to read the words that are written there. 30 years really does seem to slip away, but being summoned back here, it's all flooding back to you. Flooding is an odd choice of words, huh? Could it be the black that's seeping into your shoes that makes you think of that? That doesn't matter now, you need to keep going.

As you progress through the corridors, you find various wooden cutouts of your old creation, Bendy. He has a smile painted on his face that just reeks of fake enthusiasm, and a bitter laugh escapes your lips. He must hate you for replacing him with a better design. That is, if cartoons had feelings, which you're pretty sure they don't. The pentagrams are a little unsettling though, seeming to be drawn behind Bendy, as though suggesting some kind of otherworldly connection. Probably just Joey joking around, or at least, you hope so.

Nearby, you find an axe propped up against the wall, and you lift it into your hands, deciding that for whatever reason, you'll benefit from doing so. Those slitted eyes seem to be following you, taunting you, and in a fit of unprovoked rage, you swing your axe and cut the cocky character into splinters. It seems to bring you a small dose of relief, and you turn away, grabbing some tins of soup from the shelves to keep your strength up, before moving on.

Just a few steps down the corridor, you glance back, expecting to see the shredded drawing, and you find him unharmed, his smile just as mocking as before. It must be the fumes, you tell yourself, you're hallucinating or something. That's the only reasonable explanation, and it's not like there's any other. Not even the note pinned on the wall that reads, ' _Turn on the ink machine_ ' but seems to be written in ink.

Of course it is... what else do you write a note in, blood? You scour the halls looking for various cogs and pieces to repair the machine, someone really did a number on it, and the neccesary components are scattered all over the workshop. But as boring as it seems, you only have one objective in writing, and you get the machine working again, which whirrs to life with a rumbling hum.

You're drawn to the lever which will activate the machine, but you don't touch it yet. First, you return to study something you saw earlier, another of your abandoned creations. Boris, a 3D model of the cute canine, but... with his ribcage torn open, and his organs replaced with cogs and gears. You can't recall why this was requested, but it seems rather ominous, and you mutter a small apology before returning to the ink machine, and taking a deep breath.

Then you turn the machine on, and listen to the methodical chugging of ink as it flows through the pipework. What did that achieve? Nothing seems to have changed, except for that awful feeling that someone, or something, is watching you. Trying to dismiss it, you go to your old office, which is locked, and remember a key you earlier unearthed. Trying the key in the lock, it gives a soft click and swings open, revealing many planks of wood, forming a barricade across the darkness.

It looks like it's trying to keep you out... or keep something in. The sound of the ink sloshing is much louder here, and as you lean in to investigate, something erupts from the ground, startling you. It seems to be created entirely from ink, about six feet high, and with eyes blazing like soulless voids of darkness, it breaks through the barricades, prompting you to flee.

Though before you do, you realise that the shape it resembles is that of Bendy, a very distorted, perhaps slightly decayed version? You don't dedicate much time to studying it, running for your life as you hear it sprinting after you with a threatening gurgle, focussed only on getting away, until the floor gives out and you fall rapidly, no sound in your lungs to scream.

But the drop isn't that far, and once you land and get your bearings, you grab your axe again, now desperately hacking at the wooden pieces which block your exit, until they snap and fall. Bendy doesn't seem to be following you any more, but you're fairly certain now that whatever he's become, is alive. Especially as your eyes are drawn to the inked scrawl on the wall, ' _The creator lied to us_ ' and behind you, you can hear something whispering, "Traitor, traitor, traitor, the creator is a traitor."

Ignoring the chanting, you slink through the small gap, and reach for the exit door...

Then everything goes black.


	2. The first decision

**Decisions, decisions...  
**

Groaning softly, you shakily haul yourself to your feet, disoriented and unsteady. Your heart is pounding in your ears like rocks falling from a volcanic sky, each one startling you, sending a jolt of panic and uncertainty through your already unsettled mind. After a few minutes, the erratic rhythm calms, and you grow accustomed to the almost soothing pulse, which confirms your existance is still in the realm of the living.

That's when you realise that the ominous thudding sound, which echoes through the ink-stained corridor, is not your own heartbeat. Your heartbeat has never caused wood to splinter beneath its polished boots before. No human organ could create a sound so... controlled.

Yes, the source of that sound is trying to trick you, you're certain of it. Though you refuse to look at it, you feel its emotionless eyes staring you down, piercing your very soul. The gentle pitter patter of the beat imitating your own, begins to rapidly increase, trying to simulate panic. Trying to build fear deep within your mind, and it's succeeding, you flinch at every movement now, just about ready to bolt from this terrifying place.

But one thought keeps you fixed to the spot. If you run, something can give chase. Something can sneak up, ensnare you from behind, incapacitate you.

No, you daren't turn your back.

On the other hand, the shoes that you're positive you saw catch the light, are back in your view now. The rest of the figure is cloaked in shadow, but without a doubt, you know who it is. You meticulously repeated curve after curve, each a fraction different than the last, to simulate life within your drawings. Always leaving a little spot on the leather of his boots uncoloured, to suggest reflection, polished to a shine.

Any closer, and you'll be able to see your own terrified face in them.

An inkstained glove reaches out, once pure white, now stained with the corruption that revels here.

You don't have much time now, it will reach you soon.

Your options are stay and face the demon you created, or try to run to safety.

What will you do?

Will you run, or will you stay?

[ _A/N: Awoo. Okay, so this took waaay longer than it should have for me to return to. I'm going to make this into a multiple choice story! It's new concept, I'm unsure if it'll work, but I'll pose a scenario to you and give you two choices. You can wait for someone else to choose, or simply add your decision to your review of the story. The first choice I see is the one I'll write for, but I'll give the alternative if a different choice is picked. ^^  
_

 _Hopefully it makes this more fun and interactive. :D_

 _I have also created an e-mail purely for fanfiction reviews, so I swear I won't miss them next time! XD_

 _Thank you all for your encouragement, and since my muse is slowly returning, I will be updating regularly, I promise. ^-^]_


	3. RUN

**RUN**

Losing your nerve as the shaky fingers draw closer, you force yourself to break out from your transfixed state, and tear away from the ink demon, adrenaline coursing through your muscles. A low rumble escapes the creature, followed by angry stomping, causing the ground to tremble, as it sprints after you.

It's more of a surging of ink, an overflow of all its bodily matter, rather than anything that could be described as a run. Running implies a movement of limbs that could be seen as comical, and this is far from it. The demon that's persuing you is advancing with rapid progression, a sinister sloshing sound continuously gaining, you can almost feel it oozing on your skin as your breathing falters, darting from corridor to corridor, but despite its size, the monster easily keeps pace.

You cry out, hearing the sound escape your lungs before consciously willing it to, as the floor beneath gives a sickening crack, and snaps under your feet, dropping you into the silent abyss below. Screaming isn't an option at this point, there's no air in your lungs to summon such an expression as you desend, the soft growling of the ink demon, fading as you fall.

Closing your eyes tightly, you wait for the crunch of colliding with the floor... and land with a rather loud splash, in a neck-high pool of onyx fluid. It's rather welcoming, for an inanimate substance, in fact, it seems to be trying to envelope you in a very tight hug. A bone crushing embrace. Maybe swimming out of it would be a good idea.

Taking a deep breath, you wade to the nearest wall and grasp at a plank of wood which is jutting out, just high enough to pull yourself out of the ink. A ledge above your head suggests that you can get back onto dry ground if you climb up onto the makeshift step and crawl onto it, but your energy is depleting fast, and exhaustion seizes your muscles, meaning you can only hang there in frustration.

As you assess the room, you see a lever, just across the span of the room, half-submerged in the ebony pool, but you've seen enough of them to identify what it is. You used to like pulling them and trying to slide through the door before it closed again, it was a fun little game. Something like that fond memory, seems laughable in this dire situation.

The ink begins to lap at your knees again, and you ponder how to drain it. If you pull the lever, it'll open the door and the ink will drain that way. Or you could climb up and progress that way, leaving the ink undrained, but unless you're in it, it's not really your problem.

A vicious snarl resonates through the room as the whole area shakes, causing the ink to slosh, and another wooden plank to dislodge, creating a second foothold. But the sound seems almost like a summoning command, and suddenly, the thick pool rises up, forming the shape of people, but they're certainly not human.

The new army advance on you, drawing close. Luckily, the span of the room is wide and long, and it'll take them a while to arrive, but judging by the speed they're going, you don't have much time.

There's a small splash as something blurred in your peripheral vision, lands at your side, and floats happily, bobbing about in the ink. It's a tool of some kind, crafted from wood, sharpened into a point. Seems like no co-incidence, someone is helping you by providing a weapon. The axe would've been better, but... it would've sunk, and beggars can't be choosers, right?

Brandishing nothing more than inky fists, the creatures advance on you. They may be un-armed, but every hit feels like it's a blow to your lungs, and you end up gasping for air.

Either you fight the creatures and pull the lever, or you climb the makeshift steps and face what lurks above. That snarl that called them to arms, can't be pinpointed, it could be waiting outside the door, or ready to pounce when you arrive on the higher floor.

Time's up!

What do you do?

 **CLIMB**

 **ATTACK**

[ Currently, this is the only option you can pick, but I will update soon and write the other option, plus the options for this chapter! ^^'''

Thank you for reading. ^-^ ]


	4. CLIMB

**CLIMB**

Stay and fight an army of ink monsters when there's an escape route available? Nah, you're out of here.

You grab onto the wooden plank above your head, giving it a few testing tugs to ensure it won't snap or giveway when you apply weight to it. It seems strong enough to support you, so you haul yourself up with a boost from your feet, which you press down into the ink in hopes it'll propel you upwards. Shockingly, it does, and you gain enough height to grab the other plank, which is jutting out near your hand as you surge and lock onto it.

Taking a deep breath, you begin to climb, trying not to step on your own fingers as you slide carefully along the wall, shifting hand to foot on the steps, until you can shakily stand to your full height. You can see onto the platform now, but you really wish you couldn't. A horrifying massacre of Boris the wolf, is staring blankly at the wall behind you. His ribs have been torn open, some cracked and broken at his feet, and his heart, or at least, what you would assume to be behind the ribs, above the lungs, is missing. Maybe he didn't have a heart to begin with? He was a cartoon drawing, for goodness sakes! But then... why would someone go to such efforts to destroy him in this way, if not to retrieve the life source within? This is the second one you've seen now, but the first could have been a model. This one... isn't.

Boris always has boots on like Bendy, but with cute elongated paws underneath. The ones he's wearing now... they're too small to be his own. You'd never draw a wolf with horns either. Nevertheless, curiosity draws you closer, and you reach out shakily to touch Boris, sickened by the X symbols that replace his eyes. Who would do this? Sammy? You know he's always been a bit crazy, but to create a character already dead is just not his style. Cartoons don't die, at least, not the popular ones. They obtain countless injuries, but they never take any permanent damage. So there's no reason to draw or to physically sculpt a dead model. Especially not one without a heart.

As you study him more closely, something detaches from his body and launches itself at you, coating your world in black. You claw at the substance, desperately trying to prise it off your face, feeling your lungs start to seize up. Whatever it is, your oxygen level is depleting fast, and it seems to know what it's doing to you.

"Henry?"

"Mmm!"

You struggle against the suffocating creature, feeling your energy drain, your eyes starting to close. No... this isn't how it ends...

"Enough!"

As the voice breaks the tension of your ordeal, cutting through the room like a knife, the creature drops from your face and slithers away like an inky python. Your vision slowly returns, the world re-assembling itself through colours and shapes, until you can finally focus again. You never knew that breathing was such a desired action, but now as you gulp in lungfuls of air, you realise that you were dangerously close to being extinguished.

"Sammy?"

You recognise the voice, or so you think, but it's distorted. It's much higher than Sammy's voice usually is, more chipper, and yet sinister in the same tone. If you didn't know better, you'd swear that Sammy had just saved your life, but sadly, you know better. Lifting your gaze to meet your rescuer's own, you gasp in surprise.

You... never drew him like this. And nobody else ever drew him like this... he looks... human...

Something is definitely wrong here, your version of Bendy was round and bouncy, and small. His head was a kind of cup shape, or a circle with a little hole punched out, to form two curled horns. He was a cartoon demon, he didn't need to resemble anything human-like.

He doesn't need to resemble anything human-like.

Yet here he stands, looking all too real to be just an illusion. The demon is certainly not the character you first sketched, and yet, every feature is undoubtedly his. You look him up and down, taking in every single detail.

Bendy is about your height, maybe a little taller, watching you patiently. His ebony horns crown a crop of raven locks, which fall gently around his face, appearing to be light and soft, just like real hair. The demon's skin is ivory white, flawless, not a blemish in sight, looking more like a coat of paint than anything epidermal. His nose is little more than a rounded curve, it can be described as cute, if you're daring enough. Large eyes watch you as you cautiously meet them, soaked through with jet black, the irises holding a reflective shimmer as they catch the dim light of the room.

You take a step back, trying to process all this, but you're drawn close again, wanting to memorise every single feature on this... strange being. As you resume staring, you cast a glance to his seemingly innocent smile, his lips a snowy shade, blending into his skin almost, yet on _his_ face, it looks normal. His outfit appears more elegant than you could ever have illustrated it, a large white bow tied beneath his collar, around his neck, curled into two near identical loops, with a tight knot inbetween, and a pair of very short ribbon tails beneath.

It guides your eyes down to his waistcoat, which is a soothing grey, pinstriped in a symmetrical fashion, each of the centre stripes, leading to a shiny black button, you count six in total, in a set of two, all the way down his front, spaced quite evenly, horizontally and vertically. The waistcoat is covered by a sleek velvet jacket, also in ebony, Bendy's colour scheme consists only of those which were available to you at the time, with white cuffs and matching large triangular lapels at each side.

He wears a snowy shirt beneath his waistcoat, which you can barely see, only peeking out at the top and bottom of the other layers. You don't allow yourself to linger for too long on his lower half, but you can see a pair of material tails which fall at his hips, and you realise that the jacket, is actually a tailcoat. A nice addition, you never really pictured the demon with one, but it suits him nonetheless. His hands are resting at his sides, covered by pure white gloves, a line on the back, leading to each finger, exactly how you've drawn them.

Now you briefly skim his trousers, a casual cotton in a dark grey, ending at his ankles, and finally, you reach the polished to a brilliant shine, black boots. You can see your own traumatised reflection in them, especially as a snake-like shadowy string flicks around the male's footwear, tipped with a playing card spade, and sways gently from side to side. It can only be described as a demon tail, moving with graceful motions, and curling on occasion.

"You're quiet, Henry."

Bendy addresses you, tilting his head a fraction to the side. Hearing his voice for the second time, you dispel any thoughts that this might be Sammy, from your mind. The creature has a voice of its own, and it's causing yours to fail. You try to summon a response, but it takes some consideration before you do. However friendly Bendy might seem, he could be easily angered, so you have to be careful what you say.

Maybe he doesn't know for sure that you're Henry. If he's confirming that fact, and you allow him to do so, you could put yourself in danger. You're 'the creator' and the signs around the workshop suggest that 'the creator' is one he's none too fond of. Perhaps you could try to deny that you're Henry.

Or, you could simply pay him a compliment. After all, flattery might be key with this sentient being. You made him, he might be merely looking for approval, and who are you to deny him?

'I'm not Henry.'

Or.

'You look elegant in your suit.'

What will you say?

 _[A/N: The first choice was climb, so the story continues from that choice. Reviews are always welcome, thank you! ^-^_

 _As I said before, if other choices are made, I will write those in too. :) ]_


End file.
